Chipotle shrimp Cocktail SAUCE

Let’s face it: shrimp cocktail is really all about the sauce. You might notice that chipotle chiles in adobo sauce show up in a lot of our recipes. That’s because they’re so damn delicious, adding an incredible smoky-hot flavor to everything you mix them with—even sauce for a shrimp cocktail. I had the chefs put this sauce with shrimp on the menu because I love a steakhouse shrimp cocktail, but nobody ordered it (I guess it was too out there for a Mexican joint)—the sauce is so good, though, I wanted it to have a space in this book. You can serve it with some precooked shrimp from the grocery or poach your own, but I highly recommend serving it alongside the Citrus, Herb & Garlic Shrimp (this page), which can be prepared in big batches, making it a perfect finger or fork-friendly party food. Your guests will thank you and you will thank me. You’re welcome.

Makes about 1½ cups

4 chipotle chiles from a can of chipotle chiles in adobo sauce

Juice of 1 lime

1 tablespoon white balsamic vinegar

1 tablespoon molasses

2 tablespoons dark brown sugar

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 cup ketchup

2 tablespoons bottled horseradish

Juice of ½ lemon

1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

Citrus, Herb & Garlic Shrimp (this page) or poached shrimp

Finely chop the chipotles, mashing them against the cutting board until they form a smooth paste. Transfer the paste to a small saucepan, add the lime juice and vinegar, and whisk to combine. Stir in the molasses and sugar, and slowly warm the sauce over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar dissolves and the volume reduces to a paste consistency, about 3 minutes. Stir in the soy sauce and set it aside to cool.

In a medium bowl, combine the ketchup with the horseradish, lemon juice, and Worcestershire sauce. Stir in the cooled chipotle-molasses mixture. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate until chilled, about 30 minutes. Serve with the cooked shrimp. (The sauce can be refrigerated for up to 5 days.)

Angeleno Artistry

L.A. is my hometown, but Pacoima is my ’hood, and as a kid running around the neighborhood, I was a hood! Pacoima is in the San Fernando Valley, just west of the Angeles National Forest. One of the oldest parts of the city, it was a Native American settlement 1,500 years ago and a Spanish mission 200 years ago. Now, it’s a town of 75,000 people. Like a lot of things in life, Pacoima is what you make of it. Like its other famous residents, including Chicano rock pioneer Ritchie Valens, two-time world boxing champion Bobby Chacon, and California Secretary of State Alex Padilla, I was lucky to make a lot out of it.

When I was a kid, Pacoima was known as one of the few places where, if you were a minority, you could buy a house. Which made it one of the most diverse parts of the city. That’s true to this day: Latinos, African Americans, Japanese, Chinese, Caucasians, Catholics, Jews—we’re all living together. Both the vice-principal at my school and my history teacher, Mrs. Findely, always told me I had potential and they taught me that what goes around comes around. Little did I know that I’d work my way out of Pacoima only to end up back there. I bought the house I grew up in and another around the corner where I keep my cars and recharge when I’m not on the road. I love it—this is home. Where else in the world can I drive down the street in one of my lowriders, look up, and see a mural of myself on the side of a building that isn’t one of my restaurants? That’s the beauty of Pacoima and the beauty of L.A. It’s a living, breathing work of art.

People ask me what it was like growing up a Latino in L.A. in the 1950s and ’60s. I got to tell you something—I never really experienced racism. People that I ran with, my gang, we were all people who had been thrown out of every other gang because of our general insanity—and we were a diverse crew. Frank Russo, an Italian, was one of the guys who saved my life, as far as getting clean and getting sober goes. Marty Hart was a white guy; Harry Ross was Jewish. We came from different backgrounds and we stood up for each other. No one ever told us we weren’t allowed to go somewhere or be someplace.

Pacoima was hit hard by the housing crisis in 2008 and hundreds of houses in the neighborhood went into foreclosure. After the recession, a group of artists wanted to express civic pride and started painting murals throughout the city and on a stretch of Van Nuys Boulevard between Foothill Boulevard and San Fernando Road that’s now called “Mural Mile.” Among them there’s one of Ritchie Valens, one of the Mona Lisa in a sombrero and bandolier like a badass bandita, one of the Virgin Mary with cyberpunk and Aztec symbols, and then there’s one of me, shirtless, with a Chevy pickup and a motorcycle. When they unveiled the mural of me, there was a ceremony and I brought my mom; she couldn’t help but remind me that I’d been arrested for selling drugs at the taco stand right across the way. I’m grateful that it’s something I can laugh about today—and believe me, the irony of it all is not lost on me! I’ve never really left Pacoima to live anywhere else. Only when I have to be on set to film—but even then, I can’t wait to get back home.